LETTERS TO MARÍA: LETTER FOUR

LETTER FOUR

JANUARY 29^TH

So long ago that not matters how drunk I am, I can’t laugh at all. Not from other drunk fights at Pancho’s cantina neither of the Priest’s sermon at church. Nothing at all, as I am, nothing.

Today I saw your mother on my way to the News Paper office, she was opening up the bakery and sweeping the sidewalk. “Good morning Juan” and I had no other remedy than reply “Good morning Mrs. Alma”. Since you left in the train I haven’t had such awkward interaction. Your mother never liked me and I know it, it’s no secret to anyone. Am not stupid Maria; she had a lot to do with you leaving with him.

 And some right to do it too, he will give you a home and provide for you, he can buy you pretty dresses and pots with huge flowers. What kind of life I could have given to you?  If not the same as hers, life of working woman from small town, with dry hands of clothe washing, scratched knees of grinding corn in the stone metate, with bags under the eyes of countless hours at candle light mending socks.

Yes, it would have been like that. No more than working people’s living, full of broken pants and patches, a single pair of shoes and beans for meal. It would have been like that with me, just walking the parks and markets without buying and seeing upper class children with their lemon sherbets. Living in poverty and worries. You covered in cooking flour and myself covered in paper ink. With happy noisy children running everywhere, dirty and mended, but with sunshine smiles like yours.

Because with love, even sleeping under a fig's shade… maybe there was no more love and that’s it.

I would have given my life for that smile of yours, in some ways am giving it for you. I lay here in this deep dark abyss and you up there, lighting it all, surrounded by everything you wished for. A huge garden, a house of your own, a maid to avoid the scratchy knees, no starched clothes and even a radio.

I didn’t ran after it and hanged from that train’s window because of your happiness, as shallow it seems, a vain smile of your is worth so much more than my entire life for me. I’d die another and thousand times to make you smile. Am rotting and writhing in pain and all to avoid you to sleep in some old cot the rest of your life.

Juan